His Christmas Countess

‘Larminster, here’s Allundale’s wife at long last.’ The marquess inclined his head and beamed at Kate, who curtsied again. ‘You’ve taken long enough bringing her to town, Allundale.’

Grant had no trouble interpreting that as, So what is wrong with her? ‘All due to my sins, ma’am. I’m greedy, jealous and possessive and don’t want to share her.’ As he spoke, he realised that was all quite true. He wanted to scoop Kate up in his arms and sweep her off back home. He wanted to do something about this strange fizzing joy inside him.

‘Well, now, there’s a declaration of the kind one doesn’t hear enough of in these cynical days. Do you hear that, Larminster?’

Beside him he could almost feel the warmth of Kate’s blushes, but when he walked her away from the receiving line and could look at her face he saw the light dusting of rice powder had subdued the colour, or else she was pale through nerves.

‘She’s a bossy old besom,’ he said as he steered her into the reception room. ‘But she means well.’

‘I’m sure she does.’ Kate’s chin was up. ‘That was very gallant of you, to say those things.’

‘I meant them.’ You make me so happy. You have transformed my life. How the blazes did one say these things to one’s wife in the middle of this scrum? Surely there was a withdrawing room somewhere? Gabriel would have slipped a coin to a footman and would know the location of hidden nooks before he had even sized up the ladies at any social event. Alex, in the old days, wouldn’t have been much slower. But Grant had never enjoyed dicing with scandal under the very noses of chaperons and sharp-eyed husbands and had always conducted his affaires with considerably more discretion.

‘What is amusing you?’ Kate obviously didn’t find anything at all amusing about the hot, noisy throng and was eyeing them with a social smile on her lips and eyes as wary as any gladiator thrust into the arena, wondering where the lions hid and just how hungry they were.

‘I’m regretting not bribing a footman, that’s all,’ he said vaguely. ‘Come, let’s circulate and I’ll introduce you to some people you’ll like.’

And, by a miracle, he managed to locate many of the acquaintances he had hoped to introduce to Kate. The pleasanter young matrons with small children of their own, the cheerful chaperons whose gossip was friendly, not vicious, and several gentlemen he could trust to treat her to polite and harmless flirtation or intelligent conversation.

* * *

After half an hour he felt she had relaxed enough to leave her with a group of his friends while he went to find her a glass of ratafia. When he got back she had Mr Whittaker choking with laughter over her description of their vicar confronted by the flock of sheep that wandered into the church during his sermon, pursued by a very amorous ram. By her side the Reverend Herbert, one of the Bishop of London’s more irreverent curates, was extemporising a sermon of his own on the subject of lost lambs while making eyes at two young ladies who appeared very willing to stray in his direction.

Grant had never realised that Kate was a natural raconteur before, but she was holding her small audience gripped while, with perfect poise, she spun the tale in such a way that the poor vicar was described kindly and yet the scene was irresistibly funny.

‘Do let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Allundale. She pines for witty conversation.’ Whittaker took her arm, removed the ratafia glass from Grant’s hand and steered Kate off into the crowd. She seemed more than happy to go with him.

‘You look as nervous as a hopeful mama whose chick has just been launched into the stormy seas of the Season,’ a familiar voice remarked.

‘Alex.’ Grant relaxed a trifle. If Alex was there, then Tess was as well, so that was two more allies. ‘I don’t know about looking like a hopeful matron, but I’m certainly nervous—Kate is painfully shy about all this.’

‘She looks stunning. Very chic. I like the hair.’ His friend was watching Kate with the eye of a connoisseur.

Grant narrowed his eyes at him, then told himself not to be ridiculous. This possessiveness played havoc with the common sense. ‘She does, but she doesn’t look like my Kate any more when she’s dressed up like this.’

‘Ah. Your Kate. I wondered how long it was going to take you to notice.’ Alex’s mouth twitched into its lazy smile as Grant frowned at him.

‘Of course I notice. She’s my wife.’ He did his best to sound offhand. This new awareness of his feelings was too sensitive to discuss, even with Alex.